Arrested by these lucent elements
whose tactile volumes optically project
beyond the picture plane from a depth of space

that draws us in, we search for evidence
of a shaping hand: the maker who perfects
real presence in oil on canvas as if by grace.

Café Scene

Shall we proceed according to our plan
now that we’ve eaten omelets, salades vertes,
and read the Herald Tribune? Or just command
more wine and let the street parade divert

us from another self-conducted tour
of one more two-star Gothic church set forth
by Michelin? Why bother to demur?
Shouldn’t we, ensconced, play this for all it’s worth?

Bless Baedeker! For now let’s not contrive
one more grand tour. The locals take delight
in where we are, so let’s people-watch till five.

No need for one more recommended sight,
our tickets punched as tourist cognoscenti.
I recommend rosé. Drink up! There’s plenty.

Brad Whitehurst is a native of Richmond, Virginia. He lives in New York City, where he teaches at the Nightingale-Bamford School. He earned degrees in English from the College of Willliam and Mary (B.A.), Georgetown University (M.A.), and Middlebury College’s Bread Loaf School of English (M.Litt.). His poems have been published in Shenandoah, Meridian, The Sewanee Theological Review, and other venues.